In Her Tracks (Tracy Crosswhite #8)(6)

They looked like tombstones.

And these were just Nunzio’s working files. Tracy knew the rest of the cold cases, some three hundred total, were kept in a vault.

On Nunzio’s desk sat a single cardboard box containing picture frames—likely his citations and other professional memorabilia that once hung on the wall behind him, which now displayed only gold picture hangers, proof Nunzio did not intend to hang his career on the walls of his home.

He was leaving death behind.

Tracy knocked on the door. “Hey, Art.”

Nunzio looked up. The glasses fell onto the bridge of his nose. He quickly removed them. “Tracy.”

“Heard you’re retiring.” She took one step inside the office.

“Heard you’re taking my place.” Nunzio stood. “Wasn’t sure we’d have the chance to talk.”

She smiled. “Who told you I would be taking your place?”

“Nolasco.”

Figured. The ass had concocted the scheme before she’d even come in. “Not sure yet. Thought I’d take the opportunity to talk with you, ask you some questions. You have a minute?”

“I’m retiring, Tracy.” Nunzio smiled. “Starting tomorrow, every day is Saturday, at least that’s what my buddies on the golf course tell me.”

“Sounds heavenly.”

“I’ve officially written my last case file report. I’m like a punch-drunk fighter nearing the end of a fifteen-round brawl. I want to be like Rocky Balboa, on my feet when the final bell rings.” His eyes shifted to the clock on the wall. Counting down the minutes.

Tracy hadn’t had time to formulate intelligent questions, and she didn’t know a lot about the Cold Case Unit, which was just the one detective. She knew a homicide or missing person case didn’t go cold at the department unless the detectives assigned to investigate the case exhausted all leads, explored all known evidence, and retired or left the department. Given recent developments, that was happening at an unprecedented pace.

“Not sure I’m cut out for this, Art.”

“I wasn’t either. They pitched the position to me as a place to work nine to five, with my weekends free. That appealed to me at the time.”

“And was that true?”

“For the most part. You know how it goes when you’re following a lead.”

Tracy did. She looked at the ominous black binders. “I imagine it’s hard, rarely getting a resolution.”

Nunzio motioned to a stack of files on the only other chair in the office. Tracy put them on the edge of the desk and sat.

“Improvements in DNA analysis and other forensics are changing that. I solved twenty cases this past year, which is better than my predecessors ever did.”

“I recall reading that. Congratulations.” Only 280 more to go.

“But I’m not going to lie to you,” Nunzio said. “It takes a certain personality to stomach this and keep it in perspective. You can only tell family members ‘I don’t have good news for you’ so many times and in so many different ways, before you feel like a liar.”

“Is that why you’re leaving?”

“I’m leaving because I’ve put in my time.” He shrugged. “It’s time for someone new, someone with energy.”

“And optimism?” Tracy asked.

Nunzio smiled but it had a sad quality to it. “This job takes years off your life. You know that. I’m the same age as my friends, and I look ten years older. And I’m tired. I’m ready for something different. Until I find it, there’s fishing and golf.”

Tracy looked at the sagging bookshelves. “Where does one start?”

“I looked for cases that interested me and treated each like an active case, like the murder just happened.”

She eyed the binders and couldn’t imagine where to begin.

“I made it a little easier for whoever follows me. I created a cheat sheet of the cases I pursued, and I summarized the known evidence. The brass wanted me to give priority to cases with the highest chance for a resolution, so I pushed sexual assault homicides with collected DNA evidence—samples of blood, semen, or saliva—to the top of that list.”

DNA could now be analyzed and compared with the DNA profiles in CODIS—the FBI’s Combined DNA Index System that contained profiles of individuals convicted of crimes.

“Here’s the thing. If you look at it like you have three hundred unsolved cases, you’ll drive yourself nuts. Just take one case at a time, with the same purpose as your active files—finding justice for the victim and the family. I’m not saying it’s been easy,” Nunzio continued, then stopped before he said anything more.

Tracy waited while he looked around his office. “Families call me regularly, Tracy, and it can be hard, but we have a great victim advocate team to handle expectations. Still, I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that walking out that door, leaving these cases unsolved, will be both the hardest and the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

“Why the hardest?”

He looked from the binders to Tracy. “Because I always believe I’m one phone call, one DNA hit away from solving another case.”

“And why the easiest?” Tracy asked.

“Because I’m tired of lying to myself.”